So Few Words Are Needed
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Some of the many ficlets/drabbles I have written for the A/R pairing. Most are romantic, but sometimes there is humour or angst. See each individual chapter for summaries.
1. Chapter 1

**I have written hundreds of ficlets/drabbles for A/R, and have decided to post a few here. This 'story' will be the stand alone/individual ficlets/drabbles I've written (that is, not series of ficlets or ones with sequels etc), each posted as an individual 'chapter'. I will keep all the fics of the same ratings together, therefore, this 'story' will not go beyond the T rating. All ficlets/drabbles are 300, 200, or 100 words exactly. Hope you enjoy.**

**This one I wrote for a 'write in the 1st or 2nd POV' challenge incorporating 'water'. It was a companion piece for a friend's fic which was set during He That Believeth in Me and explained MM's wardrobe fail of wearing her own wedding ring in the hangar deck scene of that episode. This should, hopefully, still make sense without having read that original fic. And this one is set after the Six of One argument.**

_Title: The Ring_

Three cups of coffee in the galley kitchen, a cold shower in the Officer's Head, and two hours later, you walk back into your quarters.

She's in your rack, facing the bulkhead. Her entire bearing screams 'leave me alone'. If this was a house, you'd be heading for the spare room. Instead you head for the couch.

As you pass the table, you see the ring, lying forlorn in the middle of the wooden surface.

She takes it off, slips it into her pocket, only when she leaves your cabin. Tonight there it is - reflecting mockingly up at you.

You snatch it up, stride to the drinks' cart and pour yourself a water.

"More?" Her voice bites out through the semi-darkness.

"You want one?" You're being a smart-ass but you can't help it. You should just tell her the glass only contains water and not more alcohol. You should just apologise and not deliberately provoke more angry words. You would, if not for the band of gold you are caressing with your thumb.

You gave her the ring as a simple gift, but it meant more than you'd admit at the time. You wait for her love to grow as intense as yours. Like she said all that time ago, you never give up hope. But now…

"Bill?"

She's standing next to you and you jump, startled.

She never flinches as you raise your fist towards her. You rotate your wrist and unfurl your fingers. She grimaces, picks up the ring from your palm and slips it onto her finger.

"I was sick."

Her words remind you of why the argument started in the first place.

"I didn't want to drop it down the toilet."

She flexes her hand, causing the ring to glint up at you. There's still hope.

The End


	2. Fairground Attraction

**Written for an A/U challenge.**

_Title: Fairground Attraction_

The cabin slowly climbed higher, until they found themselves swinging at the top. The gentle breeze they were enjoying on the ground became a blustery wind at their new altitude. Bill adjusted the blanket around her.

Threading her fingers through his, she leaned against his shoulder and accepted the kiss he bestowed on the edge of her headscarf.

They sat in silence until the cabin rocked, lowering them one position on the wheel's arc.

"Oh, Bill... Such a beautiful view."

He continued to memorise every delicate nuance of his wife's face.

He could look at the city's lights next year.

The End


	3. Happy Anniversary

**Written for the 'dirty hands' challenge. Set in that eppy.**

_Title: Happy Anniversary_

Bill was working at his desk when Laura came storming straight past him and entered the head.

"Have you got any soap left?" she called out.

He walked over to the doorway and watched as she turned on the tap and wrung her hands together under the flow of water.

"You know I don't have any."

"You're not hiding any? Keeping it for a special occasion or anything?"

She continued to scrub, systematically rubbing between each finger, under water so hot steam was rising off it.

"That's next week."

She flicked her eyes up to meet the reflection of his in the now foggy mirror.

"What?" she asked.

"The special occasion. It's nearly a year."

"You recorded the date in your log?"

Any thoughts he'd harboured that she may feel sentimental about the first time they'd made love swirled down the drain with the grey water.

However, he found some resolve to confront her bad temper, daring to move forward, wrap his arms around her, and press his chest into her back - forcing his offer of comfort onto her.

His heart soared when she leaned into him and sighed.

"I just read the last chapter of Baltar's book," she explained. "He had it hidden. Down his pants. In his underwear."

He opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle. "Shaving cream. It's not soap, but surely it has some disinfectant properties," he said.

"You're willing to sacrifice your precious shaving cream?"

"Only a little. I need to keep some for the next time we argue. But as I was hoping you'd touch me with your hands later…"

"Really? We don't have to wait until Wednesday?"

"Ah, you do remember."

"I remember every touch." She kissed him then, slowly moving her lips over his, easily coaxing a response. "Every kiss. Everything."

The End


	4. Bill's B&B

**Written for a challenge where I had to incorporate a piece of canon dialogue into the fic, using 'rumours' as a prompt for the whole thing.**

_Title: Bill's B&B_

Bill entered their quarters and was offloading an armful of paperwork to his desk when he noticed hers. It was spotless. Even the familiar too-square photo frame was missing.

"Laura?"

"I'm here."

She stood next to the rack, carefully folding her clothes into a duffle bag. She was leaving. He physically felt his heart muscles tighten in his chest.

"They've found me guest quarters. It would look very odd if I say I no longer want them."

His previously contracted heart skipped a beat completely. Could he dare to hope she wanted to stay as much as he wanted her to?

"I don't want to leave the most extensive book collection in the Fleet." She sighed. "But I have to. I don't want people to get the wrong idea."

_People. _He was people. Did she not want him to get the wrong idea?

Too late, he wanted to say. He already had the wrong idea. He wanted her here; close to him. He had no idea about her feelings. He had no idea where she saw their relationship progressing to; if she saw it progressing at all.

"Here's where they've put me." She handed him a piece of paper. "Would you escort me? At least, once I go, you can get off the couch and back into your rack," she added with a snort.

"You're always welcome in one of my beds."

Their eyes met and he thought, just for a moment, he saw _something _flickering.

He took a chance: leaned down to brush his lips across hers.

"I won't just miss the books," she whispered. "After all," she added in a normal voice, "you also have the only private bathroom on _Galactica._"

He chuckled as he offered her his arm, his heart swelling again as she gripped it tight.

The End

**B&B obviously stood for books and bathroom. Hee. I just want to add that I'm somewhat obsessed with their living arrangements and many many drabbles/ficlets will have the recurring theme of Laura moving in or out of his quarters. I'll say sorry in advance. Actually... No, not sorry. **


	5. Bird of Passage

**I wrote this for a BSG song challenge. The lyrics I was thinking of were 'Alone, she sleeps in the shirt of man' from Gaeta's Lament.**

_Title: Bird of Passage_

After unpacking her clothes and toiletries, Laura stood in the centre of the room and willed herself not to be too critical.

It was all so..._grey. _Such a contrast to the fusion of warm russet colourings of the Commanding Officer's quarters.

Thinking of Dogsville, she realised she shouldn't complain. There was a lot of space, at least.

She retrieved a few things from her bag to 'decorate' the room with: the photograph of her and Billy; a couple of prayer candles; a Colonial flag which she'd brought from Colonial One.

Sighing, she lowered herself into the brown armchair which sat in one corner, only to immediately jump up again when she felt its broken springs.

She moved to the rack, tentatively testing its firmness. Thankfully, it looked and felt brand new. It also appeared wider than Bill's.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought of how many times she had mulled over the mechanics of sharing Bill's rack with him.

Now, it was pointless to contemplate such a proposal. Lieutenant Gaeta had found her guest quarters and she'd sensibly moved out from under Bill's feet, before familiarity led to contempt.

Happily, neither of them had found the old adage to come true yet. Granted, they'd argued, but, if anything, they had grown closer since living in such close confines.

She startled at a tap on her hatch.

Bill stepped across her threshold, struggling with a cardboard box and what looked suspiciously like a carpet roll.

He chuckled at her questioning glance.

"So you can remove your shoes," he rumbled, unfurling and spreading a rug across the floor.

From the box, he pulled out two glass vases. They were orange, evoking a sentimental feeling for the quarters she had just vacated.

"House warming gifts," he said.

She smiled wistfully.

This wasn't her home.

The End


	6. It's a Wonderful Life

**The prompt for this fic was 'where the sidewalk ends'. I have no idea why this idea popped into my head when I read that phrase. I had no real idea of what it even meant! LOL We don't even have sidewalks, we have footpaths. *snort***

_Title: It's a Wonderful Life_

Laura sat to one side as Bill went over the details of his plan with Lee. He looked so alive; more alive than he had in weeks. He was a man who needed a purpose in life.

She wondered how Bill would have coped if none of this had happened and he'd been allowed to simply retire.

Closing her eyes, she imagined Bill shuffling around in a garden. He was wearing a brown robe and searching for the newspaper. The delivery boy deliberately threw it off target to tease the cantankerous old man that glowered at him from the kerb.

She'd hear him muttering and complaining to himself when he came back inside.

She would be sitting on the back deck, catching the early morning sun. The gentle breeze, which blew up from the lake their house backed onto, was tangling her hair.

He would deliver her a mug of coffee and the political pages from the newspaper, then settle in beside her to study the sports section.

A loud noise on the other side of the hangar deck brought her back to the here and now.

Residents of Dogsville were being shuttled out. Artillery was being distributed to the volunteer crew. A group of Centurions who had just arrived from the Basestar stood motionless, like tall silver statues, as a deckhand painted stripes across their chests.

She closed her eyes again, clinging desperately to his vision in their cabin.

"Whatcha doing?"

She looked up into his clear blue eyes.

"Dreaming," she admitted.

He gave her one of his crooked smiles that made her heart thump.

"What about?"

"You. As an old man."

He chuckled. "That's not a dream."

"I was there too. That's a dream."

"No," he said, leaning down to kiss her sweetly on her lips. "That's heaven."

The End


	7. Bliss

**I didn't write this for any particular prompt, but for a friend's birthday. :) Still on that living together theme though!**

_Title: Bliss_

Laura arrived home late.

He poured her a water as she lowered herself into a chair, crossed her legs and massaged her stocking-clad feet. Her heels had been discarded just inside the hatch he could presume.

"Busy day?"

She never answered, but stretched out her legs, abandoning the foot rub to lean back and close her eyes.

"I've ordered dinner, but it will still be fifteen minutes at least if you'd like to shower first."

Wordlessly she took him up on his offer.

While she was gone, he concentrated on finishing his logs, achieving his aim just as she exited the head. A slight tilt of his head registered that she had commandeered his robe and he'd have to carefully avert his gaze away from the hint of skin it always offered for the remainder of the evening.

"Chicken," he wondered as they sat, this time on opposite sides of the dining table.

She poked at the food, taking a small bite now and then.

Still she offered no details about her day.

"Your next treatment is tomorrow," he murmured, and then flinched that he'd speculated as to her subdued mood aloud.

Her only reaction was a soft hum.

He frowned worriedly, but suppressed any further attempts at conversation, respecting her wishes, which were obviously to be left in peace tonight.

After dinner, he showered and settled into the couch with a book. She paced beside his rack. He did his best to ignore the furtive glances she cast in his direction.

Finally, she spoke. "Your Lieutenant Gaeta has found guest quarters."

He swallowed down his immediate opinion on the subject.

She lay down in the rack. "It's too late to move tonight."

He allowed himself a small smile as she flicked off the light.

"Yes, maybe tomorrow," he agreed.

The End


	8. The Company He Keeps

**Written for an a/u challenge, plus as a gift for a friend's birthday. A friend who adores Saul.**

_Title: The Company He Keeps_

"We're in the middle of nowhere!"

Ignoring his wife, Saul drove on.

"Lucky Carolanne left him before he became a boring hermit."

"He left her."

"Trust me, she left him."

"How would you remember? It was fifteen years ago, and you and her weren't exactly gal-pals."

"Gal-pals?" Ellen rolled her eyes. "If it was all so long ago, why have you dragged me down here? Why are you so worried he'll knock himself off when he finds out about her getting married again?"

"I didn't say he'd do that, woman! Carolanne's wedding has coincided with his retirement, that uptight bitch turning his ship into a sideshow, Lee leaving the service, and the anniversary of Zak… I just thought he might want some company."

"Watching two old men get drunk is not my idea of fun, Saul," she pouted. "You could have just called."

"His phone doesn't seem to be working," he muttered before braking. "There it is."

"Are you sure?" Ellen whispered.

Saul stepped out of their hire car and picked up one of the letters that lay scattered beneath an overflowing mailbox.

"Mr William Adama," he quoted.

"He's not much of a green thumb."

Long grass lapped at their legs as they climbed the porch steps. Saul attempted to peer through the front window, but the drapes were closed tightly.

Suddenly the front door swung open.

A woman, wearing a brown robe and a green scarf, stood in the doorway.

Saul's eyes widened. "Madam Secretary?"

"Who?" Ellen hissed.

"Laura Roslin." Saul leaned over and whispered in his wife's ear. "The uptight bitch."

"Have you got a phone? We need an ambulance."

"I told you, Saul! Bill's tried to commit suicide."

"Don't be so ridiculous," Laura snapped.

"Then, what?" Saul asked.

Laura bit her lip. "He's put his back out."

The End


	9. Aftertaste

**Written for a 'red' prompt.**

_Title: Aftertaste_

Guiding her to the couch, the Commander handed her a glass.

"Red wine?"

"I bought it as an investment about ten years ago."

"Expensive?"

"Probably would've fetched a few thousand cubits at auction."

"You should have saved it for a special occasion."

He checked his watch. "We haven't disagreed on any subject for eighteen minutes. I think that's special, Madam President," he teased, joining her on the couch. "Close your eyes," he quietly ordered.

Her eyes flew to his face instead.

"We should make wine this expensive into an entire experience," he explained, closing his eyes, raising his glass to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Aerilon Oak."

Tentatively, she followed his lead and shut her eyes.

"What can you smell?" he asked.

She could smell the soap he used. It clung to his skin despite the fact she knew he must use it sparingly.

She determinedly lifted the glass closer.

"Wood," she agreed.

"Yes."

Polish, she thought. He'd polished his tunic's buttons recently.

"A spice of some kind…"

His breath held a hint of the spice that had been used on their chicken dinner.

"Anything else?"

"Leather."

How amazing that his belt had a scent.

"That's all?"

She nodded but there was something else. It was the faint tang of his sweat.

"Take a sip without opening your eyes," he suggested.

She licked her lips before she obeyed. In her mind she was running her tongue along his chest.

"Can you taste the wood? The spices? The leather?"

She saw herself eagerly lapping up the salty moisture that made his skin shine.

"You like it?"

"Oh yes," she moaned.

His chuckle made her eyes fly open.

"Tastes like vinegar," he declared.

Finally, once her flush had subsided, she returned to reality, snorting resignedly and checking her watch. "Twenty-two minutes, Commander."

The End


	10. Admiral Assertive

**Written for the 'missing scene' challenge. That is, something that obviously must have happened in canon, and yet we never saw. Back onto that theme of Laura moving in! Obviously there was some sort of conversation surrounding it... And I got to add my lovely Sherman! **

_Title: Admiral Assertive_

Laura stood eyeballing Galactica's Head Physician when Bill walked into sickbay.

"Major? What's going on?"

"Oh, great, reinforcements. Remember, when it comes to medical matters, I outrank you both."

"I never called him," Laura snapped. "Don't you think I can fight my own battles?"

"I think you may be getting too used to people jumping through hoops for you," Cottle growled back. "That intimidating look you give the junior reporters in press conferences isn't going to work on me."

Sherman fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, making Bill think his claim of not being flustered by Laura wasn't entirely truthful.

"Major," Bill said in his most authoritative tone. "Your patient is still the President and, as such, demands respect."

"Being the President doesn't seem to be giving her the sense to stop being a stubborn and unnecessarily independent," Cottle paused, searching for the right word to describe Laura, "_woman_," he eventually spat out.

"She's a woman?" Bill murmured. "I'm not sure I'd noticed."

"Funny, Admiral." Laura rolled her eyes. "I now have _two_ wits administering my welfare."

"Maybe someone could tell me what this is all about," Bill said.

"The President needs to stay on _Galactica_ for the duration of her diloxin treatments."

"That sounds reasonable, Laura. What's the problem?"

"The problem is I don't want to stay here in sickbay. As I explained to Doctor Cottle, my recovery will not be expedited in this atmosphere."

"And I've already told you, Madam President," Cottle injected, "that you'll have to make do here until guest quarters become available."

"You'll just have to stay in my quarters," Bill said quietly, finally rendering them both speechless.

He took advantage of their shared shocked silence to collect Laura's bag, take her arm, and lead her toward the exit of sickbay.

"That's settled then."

The End


	11. Anal Retentive

**This was written for an 'a/r' challenge: to write a fic incorporating at least two words starting with the letters 'A' and 'R'. **

_Title: Anal Retentive_

Bill came through the hatch and silently absorbed the most obvious changes.

Laura breezed up to him, cloth in hand, and pecked him on the cheek as a hello.

"You're due a treatment?" he guessed.

"Yes, in half an hour. I'm sure I can finish this before then."

"You don't have to bother." He clasped his hands together, fighting the urge to knock over one of the neat stacks of files sitting on his desk. "You're a guest, after all."

Shoulders slumped, she dropped what she'd been using as a duster onto the couch. He then noticed it was one of her head scarfs.

"Laura, I meant-"

She turned and entered the head.

He hovered in the doorway. "It was just a slip of the tongue."

She snorted bitterly. "It's okay, Bill. These _are_ your quarters."

The chrome shelves and rails in the room sparkled accusingly out at him.

His shame was not diminished when he saw their toothbrushes sharing a cup.

"Laura-"

"If you don't mind, Bill, I'm sweaty and smelly. I'd like a shower."

He nodded slowly and retreated.

He looked despairingly across to the tidy bookcase. He had less than half an hour to find the perfect book.

The End


	12. Alcohol Related

**Written for the 'a/r' challenge as well. Slight spoilers for Caprica, I should say. Bill losing himself in alcohol is another recurring theme of my drabbles. *sniff***

_Title: Alcohol Related_

She found him in the head, wearing only tanks and boxers, head bowed leaning against the bulkhead, clutching something tightly in his fist.

"Hey," she rasped, sliding down to join him.

"You shouldn't be on the cold floor."

"Probably not," she agreed, but made no effort to move.

Before he could fuss further, she reached out and opened his palm, revealing a tattered photograph.

"My father," he muttered.

"The lawyer?"

"Yeah."

She held the photo closer. "He looks a lot like you," she remarked.

"I always thought we had nothing in common."

"And now?"

He never replied immediately and she allowed him some time, ignoring the pain in her lower back. For Bill, she could put up with a few twinges.

"Now I understand why he drank. I understand his pain. I understand why he never loved us enough."

"I'm sure he did."

"His first son was killed, before I was born. He also lost his first wife and his only daughter. My mother paid for not being his first love. I paid for not being William Adama, the First."

"Oh, honey," she whispered, brushing his hair back from his face when she, by habit, lifted her hand up to her own now-bare scalp.

"You know pain, and I know you still love your first wife, but that's where the similarity ends. Bill, you know how to love better than anyone I've ever met. You taught me, remember? And I'm willing to share with the rest of your loves." She shoved his shoulder. "Even Lee."

Later when she was almost asleep, safe again in their rack with his arms tightly wrapped around her, he whispered, "I'm sorry, but I don't love you like I love the others."

She held him close. "And you're my first," she promised in return.

The End


	13. Honourable Discharge

**Written for the 'last drinks' challenge. **

Laura reached around to tuck the blanket tighter against her back, missing the warmth she usually felt.

"Bill?" she mumbled, peering across at the chronometer. Surely 200 hours wasn't correct, she thought, fumbling around on the shelf for her glasses.

"Go back to sleep."

She blinked up at Bill, now standing beside the rack, wearing a pair of tanks and blue uniform pants.

"What's wrong? Is there an emergency. Cavil-"

"Everything's okay. I just can't sleep. Thought I'd go for a run."

"A run?" She struggled to sit up, confused.

"Maybe not a run. A jog."

"A jog? You don't jog."

He shrugged. "Run, jog, trot, whatever."

"It's a big ship," she reminded him gently.

He chuckled. "I won't be long."

"What time is it?"

"Early morning," he replied.

She frowned. Military training usually meant Bill was more precise. She'd also never known him to have insomnia.

"Kiss me," she ordered.

He grumbled but obediently bent to brush his lips along her cheek. As he did she moved quicker than either of them thought possible, grasping one of his hands in one of hers. With her free hand she reached up and felt his forehead. He was cool and clammy.

"I'm not contagious," he rumbled. "I wouldn't... Your immune system..."

"But..."

A shudder ran through his body. The hand she was holding began to jerk around uncontrollably.

"I just need to keep busy."

Suddenly, it dawned on her.

"You haven't had a drink..."

"Maybe not even a trot," he joked, ignoring her revelation. "More of a shuffle."

She grinned broadly. "I could always call Lee. Ask him if he'd come over and spar. Kill two birds at once."

She released his hand and snuggled down into the rack again. As he headed for the hatch, she softly added, "About time."

The End


	14. The Ties that Bind

**Just a sweet little one tonight. Written for the 'mission accomplished' challenge.**

Laura stared into the mirror. It was too low on the right side.

"Damn," she muttered, adjusting it again, because now it was sitting too low on the left.

Finally she got it straight, but it was too tight. She'd have a headache to contend with as well if she left it like this.

Sighing, she yanked it off, left the bathroom, and laid it flat upon Bill's desk.

"Maybe tying it beforehand is the trick."

She folded it in half, making a triangle, and looped the edges together as she would've with one of her silken numbers that accessorised her business suits on Caprica. Feeling triumphant, she placed it on her head, only to have it slide off onto her shoulders immediately.

She pulled it off from around her neck, tears of frustration welling in her eyes.

Two hands settled onto her shoulders, massaging lightly.

They took the soft material from her shaking fingers.

They folded it into a triangle, then again, not just the once, so it was thicker as they wrapped it around her head.

"There," the hands' owner said, spinning her around to study his handiwork. He dropped a kiss onto her forehead. "Perfect," he declared.


	15. The Last Dance

**Written for the 'spaceson' challenge (that is, incorporating Billy).**

**Title: The Last Dance**

Peeking through the curtain and into the President's private quarters, he saw she was awake.

The white robe she lounged around in most days now was missing, and in its place was a satin blue blouse and the tailored dark skirt she often paired with that. She was peering into her mirror, applying makeup with a shaky hand.

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't make any more public appearances," he said with a worried frown.

She twisted her head, smiling at him over her shoulder. "Stop fussing." She turned back to the mirror and finished her face off with a swipe of shiny red lipstick before fluffing at her hair with her fingers.

"I'm not going out in public." She undid the top three buttons on her blouse; the jutting sharp bones on her neckline a painful reminder of weight loss and illness. "I'll have to do," she murmured.

"Do?" he asked, puzzled. He let his gaze drift across to the corner of the room where she always kept her tea-making facilities.

Catching his look, she laughed. "I'm not high." After a moment, she quietly added, "I want to dance." She reached out her hand and he had no choice but to take it, blushing furiously all the while.

Her breathless giggles soon filled the room, caused completely from their startling difference in heights.

"May I cut in?"

They both turned to see the new Admiral, wearing full dress greys, had arrived.

Immediately the President's hand fell away from his shoulder, her smile radiant as she greeted the older man. Next, they swayed in each other's arms, their movements speaking of an intimate level he hadn't thought they'd yet reached.

Quietly Billy left the room, she and Adama so engrossed in each other that neither of them noticed his exit.

The End


	16. Muse

**Written for an a/u challenge. I wrote a sequel for this (for a sequel challenge! LOL) and have included it. So, two tonight! One of my absolute fav a/u ideas. :) And read them slowly! Set the mood! (Have a glass of red wine like me...) **

_Title: Muse_

Bill sat in the front booth sipping his coffee. He checked the time.

Teenage boys dressed in the uniform of the local prep school ambled by intermittently.

It was Monday. She'd wear a skirt today. Tuesdays and Wednesdays it was always pant suits. Mondays and Thursdays were skirts-extremely short skirts. He could never predict Fridays.

Sad Sammy, the homeless man who slept in the underground garage of his building, set up his sign and hat.

She never wore her hair up. Occasionally, she'd pull up a few strands in a clip that was apparently all the fashion, but it was rare. Usually, she just let it fall around her shoulders in waves. It appeared natural. He conceded it was possible she spent hours with hair products and a curling wand to achieve the desired effect.

Easy Ellen from number 15 walked her three Chihuahuas toward the dog park.

She always carried a bunch of flowers; purchased from Lee's Florist on the corner. But: never roses.

Randy Richard, the moron from number 19 came into view. He never offered Sammy change. Today was no different.

Would she be wearing her glasses?

Two more teenagers: kicking a crushed can between them.

There!

A crisp white blouse; a matching red skirt and jacket.

Daffodils.

Glasses on.

She smiled at Sammy and placed some coins in his hat.

A delivery van blocked his view.

When it finally drove off, it was too late. She was gone.

"More coffee, Mr Adama?"

"No, thanks, Kara."

"Where's your notebook this morning? You're not writing today?"

"No." He checked the time again. "I have an appointment with an agent."

"That's great! You're being published?"

"Cross your fingers. I have to wait and see what this," he paused, checking the name on the business card, "Laura Roslin says."

The End

_Title: The Language of Flowers_

Bill sat at the bar, sipping his whiskey. He checked the time.

Arrogant Aaron from marketing walked past talking loudly into his cell phone. Everyone was supposed to know how busy he was.

He knew she'd received an invitation. He was here solely for the opportunity to see her dressed up.

Baby Billy, the publisher's grandson and heir apparent, was awkwardly trying to impress Demure Dee, the receptionist, on the dance floor. He wondered if Dee could finally be the girl who wouldn't judge Billy by the amount in his bank account.

She was classical. She would probably appear in the standard little-black-dress.

He nodded as politely as he could to Catty Carolanne as she waved to him from the other side of the room. Her new novel, despite the hype, was bombing and she would be desperate to keep in everyone's good graces tonight.

There!

Her dress was blue: long with a split up the side, revealing one leg right up to her thigh.

She worked the room with the prowess of a politician, gradually making her way from the entrance to the bar.

"Mr Adama," she greeted him. "I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't peg you for the type."

"Type?"

"I imagine small dinner parties with a few select friends; quiet evenings at home in front of the fire with a glass of wine and a book; coffee in the same café every morning. How'd I do?"

He never answered.

Her eyes wandered down to the flower tucked into his button-hole.

"A yellow rose," she whispered. "It represents jealousy, betrayal or a broken heart."

"True. But if it's joined by a red rose, the meaning changes to joy, happiness and excitement."

He carefully pinned a red rose to the lapel of her dress.

"Shall we dance?"

The End


	17. Government Proposal Management

**Written for the 'date night' prompt.**

_Title: Government Proposal Management_

So many thoughts tumble through my mind after he poses his question.

What if I secretly wished he would ask me? Had all my talk about educating the Fleet's children simply been an excuse to gain his attention?

His gaze lowers, and self-consciously I hitch the top of my new dress higher. Gone is the plain, religious president. He's definitely noticed me...

I've thought about how handsome he is in the past; for purely political reasons, of course. In fact, it became something I focused on repeatedly during the entire election campaign.

Am I flattered that he's practising his charm out on me?

If he'd have asked me a year ago, before the cancer, before the attacks, would I have said yes?

I remember all the times I was satisfied to gain sexual release in the arms of men I cared little for, ones who thought nothing of me in return.

I'd been so scared of being alone.

Am I any stronger now?

I look away from his dazzling smile, his expectant face, and stare over his shoulder at the New Caprican landscape.

A forlorn figure sitting on the ground catches my eye.

"I'm sorry."

I walk away before he has any chance to respond, with no thought of letting him down gently. I even ignore my inner voice nagging that by offending him now, I could be jeopardising my future.

Only I need to get to the man sitting (is he barefoot? playing in the sand?) as soon as possible.

I settle beside him, and when his gaze lowers, just as Zarek's had, I once again hitch up my top. This time, I do it slowly. I want him to definitely notice me...

"Yes," I say.

"Yes what?" he asks.

"Yes, Bill, I'll be your date tonight."

The End


	18. Life is but a Joke

**Written for the Crossroads challenge. I keep meaning to say thank you to the guest (guests?) for the reviews! They're much appreciated. Glad you're enjoying these drabbles! **

_Title: Life is but a Joke_

"Seeing you had a hysterectomy some years ago, we won't be able to use lack of period as an indicator," Cottle muttered, flicking through her file.

"It's quite possible that you never even noticed," he went on. "Your symptoms could be anything. A simple cold, for example."

"My age..."

"You're older than the average age, but technically it can still happen in your sixties."

"Can't you just give me some pills?" she snapped.

"One thing I can't stand is self-diagnosis. We'll run a couple of tests, and then, _I'll_ decide what the best course of treatment is."

"I have all the classic symptoms: lack of appetite, breast tenderness, insomnia, weight loss."

He cleared his throat. "Mood swings?"

She glared at him over the top of her glasses.

She'd been embarrassed more than once in meetings with Bill; her face flushing every time he glanced her way, her heartbeat racing every time he accidentally touched her. She'd at least confined her weepy moments to _Colonial One_.

"What about sex?" Cottle asked gruffly. "Are you experiencing any symptoms during sex? Vaginal dryness? Lack of arousal?"

"No." Lately, she was constantly aroused. She thought about it-sex-all the time. Specifically sex with Bill. "I don't know. I haven't."

"Haven't ever had sex?" he asked dryly. "Or haven't noticed any problems?"

She squirmed in her chair. "I don't know because I haven't had sex since the attacks," she admitted in a clipped tone.

His thick eyebrows rose. He muttered something under his breath before calling in Ishay and giving her a list of tests to run.

A few hours later, she sat on a cot, waiting.

Cottle walked into the small sickbay room.

She shivered when Bill followed. He sat down beside her, and took her hand gently in his.

"It's not menopause."


	19. Still the Old Man

**Written for the 'surrogate daughter' challenge. That is, incorporating Kara.**

_Title: Still the Old Man_

Halfway through the ceremony, Bill's eyes fill with tears.

Despite the fact she'd spent the night draped across his chest, Laura suppressed the urge to link her fingers with his, mindful of who would see.

"I shouldn't be thinking about him now," he whispered.

"There's no better time. He brought Kara into your life. That's why you spent so long searching that moon for her, remember?"

He snorted quietly and stared down at his boots. "Don't remember you being real impressed by that at the time."

Her only reply was to gently knock his arm before they both fell silent and listened to the remainder of the wedding vows being exchanged.

Tacitly they both drew back, away from the small crowd gathering, when the priest finally declared Sam and Kara as husband and wife.

Unfortunately, that meant they bumped straight into Ellen Tigh.

"It's just like that old saying," Ellen immediately told Bill, "you're not losing a daughter, but gaining a son." Then she added, in her usual diplomatic way: "One to replace Zak."

Bill stiffened and clasped his hands together so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"No one could replace Zak," Kara announced. The young girl had left her husband's side and was now standing next to Bill.

Saul too was suddenly there, grabbing his wife by the arm and dragging her away, muttering something about the hair of the dog.

"Really should have checked that guest list more than once," Kara joked once the Tighs were out of earshot.

Bill chuckled and pulled the girl close for a hug. "No one could replace you," he murmured sincerely.

An hour later, Laura paused before she and Bill began to walk back towards the settlement. She reached out and linked her fingers with his.

And she didn't care who saw.

The End


	20. Different in the Sunlight

**Written for the 'his and hers - colours' challenge. That is, to write two drabbles, one from Bill's pov and one from Laura's with the prompt of 'colours'.**

_Title: Different in the Sunlight_

_Part One: Laura_

Laura watches Bill from the shadows of a tarp. She's never seen him in the sunlight.

She remembers his appearance the first time they met - boots and buttons polished, hair short and slicked into place. Everything spic and spam, in control, just like he pretended to be. Meanwhile, his heart had been breaking; with one dead son, and another refusing all overtures of reconciliation. His only constant, an aging Battlestar, was being pulled apart to become a sideshow attraction.

She smiles, content that she now knows so much more about this man.

He sits with his tunic open, his sleeves pulled up, and his boots discarded. His hair, with its extra length, flicks haphazardly in the wind. There's a trace of the black shade from his photographs, intermingled with flecks of red that Lee has inherited, and more than a smattering of grey.

He glances sideways and she gets a glimpse of the moustache he told her about over the wireless. It's entirely grey. Arousal throbs through her body at the thought of him kissing her intimately - his soft tongue and lips soothingly following the trail of abrasion the bristles will etch.

She moves to sit beside him, touches him welcomingly.

His olive colouring has unnaturally paled from their prolonged period in space. He digs his bare feet into the sand and she has a vivid image of him in his youth: his body lithe, his hair dark, his body tanned and well-toned.

It's of little consequence. She's interested in the man he is today. The one shaped by the ravages of duty, death and divorce.

She flushes as desire thrums across her. She wants him to make her feel like a woman again. She knows he will.

He'll be her last lover.

The thought makes her giddy with happiness.

_Part Two: Bill_

Bill is giddy with happiness when he hears Laura's husky tone behind him.

He glances in her direction and he's blinded unexpectedly by her radiance. He isn't anticipating the New Caprican sun to enrich her features to such an extent.

His memory drifts to the day her high heels first clipped onto his Battlestar. Her hair had been disciplined and dyed a dark brown. The lavender suit she had worn came with a skirt as tight as it was short. He had seen her as a sophisticated professional - beautiful but untouchable. He now knew that she wasn't deliberately acting aloof and superior that day, but had been simply struggling with the devastating news of her cancer diagnosis.

He smiles, thankful he now understands her so much better.

As she lowers herself beside him, he eyes her dress that flows over and accentuates her feminine curves. It's a peculiar shade of red, contrasting yet heightening the rich dark auburn of her hair as it falls in thick waves around her shoulders.

He struggles to identify the other colour present in her outfit. The best he can come up with to describe the slip of material covering her full breasts is grey. This doesn't illustrate the colour or do it justice though, he thinks. It's prettier than grey.

His eyes drift lower and he notices she's inadvertently revealing more creamy white flesh than she probably had intended. She quickly remedies this situation by hitching the bodice back into place.

He gives her an apologetic look for his inappropriate ogling. However, her green eyes twinkle back at him with mischief. She is casually flirting with him.

He wants her, wants to make her feel like a woman again.

She'll be his last lover.

She may never know, but she is his first love.

The End


	21. Choices of the Heart

**Written for the 'classic' challenge.**

_Title: Choices of the Heart_

Bill was studying the items in the glass cabinet when the President entered. She came and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder at the firearms.

"You're impressed with these?" she asked, so close he could feel her delicate shudder vibrate through his body.

"I can appreciate the craftsmanship that went into their design," he admitted. "That one is a genuine Kavovi."

"It seems so bloodthirsty, almost idolising war; and death."

"I have a Monclair."

"That's different. That's a classic."

He chuckled at her contrariness.

"You also have an overflowing bookcase," she pointed out primly.

He turned, and grasped her hand gently, mindful the Admiral was due to join them.

"And that means I win your approval before Cain?" he asked, holding her gaze intently.

Then, ashamed, he quickly bowed his head. He was creating unnecessary tension. It was unfair of him to suggest such a thing. Cain was his superior. This wasn't a popularity contest.

Laura spun around, inspecting the rest of the room.

"No, actually," she said. She skimmed her fingers across the lapels of his jacket for the briefest of moments before smiling up at him. "I think it's the fact she doesn't have a couch."

The End


	22. Heavy Breathing

**A drabble and its sequel. Both written for the 'things I can't do on Colonial One' challenge**

_Title: Heavy Breathing_

Thank goodness for Galactica. Once around Colonial One wouldn't elicit the same invigoration I'm feeling now.

I can feel the blood pumping around my body – physically feel it. Each time the diloxin pumped around my body I physically felt it too, but this is as far removed from that experience as I can get.

Heads swivel and I receive quizzical looks. Bill's crew are accustomed to seeing me on board but never like this. My usual presidential garb's been replaced with a military issue grey sweatsuit.

I've also discarded the wig. I wonder if the headscarf shocks them, but there was no way I could run with the wig on. It causes my scalp to get hot and itch at the best of times. I correct my thinking–this is the best of times. I'm so free and alive.

I need to share this euphoria with Bill. He's been suffering too. Something I've been ignoring. I've selfishly wrapped myself up in anguish and turned him away. I've used him to carry the entire weight of the Fleet. His shoulders are strong and I've taken advantage of that.

He's sorting out the mess made by my Vice-President. Just something else I should be doing instead of him.

I'll call him when I get back to my quarters and apologise. Or we could just chat and flirt over the phone like we always did in the past. I might even subtly proposition him; invite him around to my place. This thought makes me snort out loud and I notice crew members flash me more curious looks.

If only they knew I was making plans to seduce their Admiral while I'm jogging.

I up the tempo, ignoring my heavy and laboured breathing. The sooner I get back, the sooner I can call Bill.

The End

_Title: Just Do It_

I attempt to skip up some steps and suddenly there is my Bill, pretending he's a brick wall. I don't take offence. It simply reminds me that he has been my solid and loyal companion for so long now that I can't remember how I ever coped without him.

I reach out, touch him, brush against him with my body, but continue to walk along as we talk - unable and unprepared to cease my momentum just yet.

He wants to talk about doctors, treatments; things I'm trying to forget.

I attempt to tease a smile from his stern face. I even have the audacity to mention our less than stellar period which involved the brig.

I get impatient when he starts to lecture me. Surely my responsibilities are now to myself and him. I've found my perfect mate and it's time I became the proverbial perfect wife. I've never sacrificed my career, my health, anything, for a man before. I'm willing to do it for Bill and I can't do it from Colonial One.

I give him a kiss. Old habits die hard and I make it quick and light, mindful of our audience. He'll know it as the invitation it is. I'm almost sad that I now won't need to make that telephone call I had planned out earlier.

I push him aside to continue on my journey of newly found freedom. He allows me to pass. Only because he thinks I'll change my mind. He thinks that the office of the President will eventually tempt me back in. It won't.

I can't imagine anything that would make me want to put that wig back on, become President Roslin, and address the Fleet again.

My ambition for the immediate future is to finally live, and love, to the fullest.

The End


	23. Caprican Kiss

**Small sweet one tonight. Written for a 'Caprican' challenge.**

_Title: Caprican Kiss_

Laura woke with a start. Bill pulled her close.

"I was dreaming; about life on Caprica."

"Sad memories?"

"Some. Some not."

"Tell me a happy memory."

"I was dying. A friend kissed me. It was a kiss full of promise; ridiculous given its timing. It was so sweet and beautiful. I remember my face stretching into its first real smile in a long time."

She gave him a similar smile.

"That wasn't on Caprica."

"You said 'tell me a happy memory'. You should be more specific with your instructions."

He grunted and snuggled even closer. "Kiss me now. Specific enough?"

The End


	24. Everyone Knows It's Meant to Be

**Written for the 'faith' challenge. **

_Title: Everyone Knows It's Meant to Be_

Emily held Laura Roslin's hand as they spoke, sharing intimate details.

The tragedy of cancer had sparked their easy and natural friendship. Emily, for one, was treasuring these moments.

"Did you lose anyone special during the attacks?" Emily asked. "A man?"

A sad smile crossed Laura's face. "We'd broken up. I came to realise we had different values. Afterwards…I kept busy." Laura had put all her energy into being the President – suppressing her memories and heartache.

"And you never found anyone else? No new love?"

"I just stayed busy."

"What about on New Caprica?"

"There was still much to do at the school."

Emily thought about Laura's visitors during her time at sickbay. The most frequent was the mysterious and remote head of the military. Laura called him Bill – a name Emily had not been familiar with – and often mentioned him in their conversations. Emily didn't think she imagined the telltale way Laura's features softened when she spoke about him.

"What about the Admiral?"

"We're colleagues."

"Lovers?"

"It's not like that."

"He's gay?"

Laura snorted. "No. Definitely not. But we're just friends."

"Just friends?"

"That's all."

"Just friends," Emily repeated with a knowing look.

Their giggles echoed throughout sickbay.

The End

**Written for a 'prequel' challenge. Prequel to Everyone Knows It's Meant to Be. I now realise it should have been called 'Bill's Gift'! :)**

_Title: Laura's Gift_

Bill found Laura kneeling on the floor, leaning over a cardboard box.

"Snooping through my stuff again?"

She looked up and smiled, showing no trace of embarrassment about being caught red-handed rummaging through his belongings.

"I need a gift."

"You're not only snooping, you're thinking of stealing," he teased. His voice softened when he posed his next question. "The woman who gave you the scarf?"

"Yes." Laura's tone suggested she was close to tears.

Bill grunted as he lowered himself to the floor beside her. "A book?" he recommended.

"No." She sighed. "She's past that point. She listens to the radio usually; to Baltar's drivel."

"And you're still friends?" he asked in mock surprise.

She patted his thigh, leaving her hand to rest upon it. "Friends are allowed to disagree on occasion. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

"You can't talk to me?"

Laura gave him a teasing grin. "Maybe it's you I want to talk about."

"Hmph."

Her hand stroked a pattern along his thigh. "I can hardly talk about our relationship with anyone else. Cottle? Tory?"

"You're finally agreeing that we're in a relationship?"

She hummed and shifted position; lying on the floor with her head in his lap. He gently pushed her headscarf off and massaged her bare scalp.

"She hasn't got much time left." Laura's voice caught. "Whatever we give her…we can get back. So, it's not really stealing."

"I was only teasing, honey. You're welcome to take anything, and you know it."

His fingers traced the tears that were now silently streaking her cheeks.

"I do know the perfect gift," he murmured.

She tilted her head back and gave him a questioning look.

"You. Give her your company. I'm willing to share. Just this once," he said before bending to kiss her.

The End


	25. If You Leave Me, Can I Come Too

**Written for the 'morning coffee' prompt.**

_Title: If You Leave Me, Can I Come Too_

Laura pulled the long strands from her brush and threw them in the trashcan under the sink. She stared into the mirror, cupping her hands over her hairline, imagining what she was going to look like without her one great vanity.

She heard the hatch opening and shutting, but refused to hurry. Bill had been gone all night. He could wait five minutes until she composed herself.

She dabbed a little more of the makeup onto her face. She'd been saving this last minuscule amount for a special occasion. But instead, she was now using it to hide the smudges under her eyes.

Finally, she took a deep breath and went out to face him.

"Good morning, ma'am. Your tea."

It wasn't Bill; it was the young private who brought their breakfast each morning.

"Thank you."

"I have the Admiral's coffee." The boy paused and looked around the room hesitantly. Bill always made it a point to thank him. Laura loved that about Bill; the way he made this young man's job seem as important as his own.

"Put it down on the table." Bill would never abandon her. It was another thing she loved about him. "He'll be back."

The End


	26. Fragments

**This is a relatively new drabble, but not many people 'got it' when I posted it elsewhere. Hope you all do! It was written for the 'occupation' challenge.**

_Title: Fragments_

Mars Day tomorrow. Hope Tigh isn't planning too many fireworks."

"Saul's in detention," I say in a flat tone.

Cottle stills. "Again? Not sure how much more he can take."

"I'm not sure how much more any of us can take."

Cottle lights a cigarette. I stare at it.

A canvas cot, my head cradled by a sandbag, fingers skimming from my palm to my wrist every time the joint is passed between us.

"Want one?" Cottle asks, misinterpreting my look of yearning.

I shake my head and look down at the scissors I'm holding. Their silver blades glint maliciously. Centurion hands...

"Half hour to curfew," Ishay notes from behind me, where she's rolling bandages from the strips I've previously cut.

The last piece of material gathers. I determinedly straighten it. Its seams are weeping with red threads. Tears the colour of blood.

It must be many long minutes later when Ishay takes the scissors from my shaking hands.

"I'll finish here," she murmurs.

"Wouldn't do for you to end up in detention alongside the Colonel," Cottle agrees.

Outside, I avoid my desperate desire to search the stars. Instead, I tug my dull grey, but practical, sweater around me tighter.

The End


	27. Let Me Count the Ways

**Written for the 'making babies' challenge.**

_Title: Let Me Count the Ways..._

When he pulled back the curtain to her room in sickbay he had a moment of dread, seeing her lying, so small, so weak, in the cot.

With a squeeze to his shoulder, Cottle assured him she was fine, safe, alive, for the moment.

He plucked her hand up and kissed it delicately, reverently, taking his place by her side, to wait.

She was just resting in their rack, only her scalp was bare, a tube ran across her face, a machine beeped with a comforting cadence, all keeping him honest.

He didn't know how long he sat there for, saying nothing, watching for some sign that she wasn't ready to give up the fight just yet, waiting for her to wake, hoping she'd smile up at him.

Time passed until he began to read, without a book, he'd been too panicked to stop for one.

He recited Tauron poetry, learnt-by-heart sections of his favourite novels, passages from the Sacred Scrolls that even an atheist would know.

He told her of his love, his devotion, his never-wavering loyalty, his inability to go on without her.

His voice was soft, a mere whisper, meant for her ears alone, from one lover to another.

When her eyes fluttered, his heart lifted, and he bent, placing his lips to her hand again, letting his tears fall like soothing rain onto her dry, paper-thin skin.

He knew she was listening, awake, without fully opening her eyes, without that smile he sought. His heart, was hers.

"I've always loved you. Ever since we met."

"Liar."

"Okay, not straight away. Perhaps more around the time you told me we had to stop fighting and start making babies."

"Liar."

He would tell her anything for her smile, the sound of her voice, just her. He, was hers.


	28. Snuggery

**Tiny one written for the 'books' challenge.**

_Title: Snuggery_

Gentle fingers carefully removed her glasses and the book spread out across her chest.

"Bill?" she murmured faintly.

"Shh, go back to sleep."

He wore only tanks and boxers, and droplets of water clung to his hair. She hadn't heard him come in, let alone the shower running.

She struggled to sit up. "I should go. I only lay down on your rack because the light was better." She grimaced. "If only Cottle could conjure up some new glasses for me."

"You're here now."

He climbed into the rack, settled her back down beside him, and added: "Where you belong."


	29. The End

**Another fairly new one I wrote for 'the cure' prompt. ****Grrr at my inability to add a 1.5 return on this site... Hope the strategically placed full stop doesn't mess with your enjoyment! /raving**

Title: The End

The push and pull of the waves is draining what little strength I have left in my weary limbs. What had looked like a gentle swell from the relative safety of the newly-repaired raft had revealed itself to be a churning torrent.

I'd also discovered the sea's turquoise perfection was an illusion elicited from the sun's reflection. A mere few strokes beneath the crystal clearness of the surface, the water changed into a dark fathomless void. I imagine any number of deadly sea creatures lurking, watching and waiting as I struggle to devour the life-giving air each time I emerge.

This wasn't the original plan. But maybe I'd been too long alone, brooding, and making foolishly daring scenarios such as this.

I suddenly wonder why I'm trying at all. I have nothing to offer anyone but my memories. They are worthless; they are priceless. No one can take them away from me, but neither can I share them with anyone.

Only she, and she is gone.

But I still hear her voice, promising my salvation; a cure for all my sins, past and present.

Perhaps there will be no blaze of glory, just relaxing, letting the sea take me into its arms.

The wall of water constricts, surrounds me, wraps me in its welcome suffocating embrace.

"Yes, Falcon," she whispers.

Then, she cradles me and I finally breathe again.

.

Bill looked down at Laura, snuggling into his side.

"Well?" she asked.

With a grunt he closed the book, and turned off the light. "Wasn't what I expected."

She patted his shoulder. "I knew you could do it."

"Not without you." His lips lingered on her forehead. "I think it could have had a happier ever after," he husked.

"We'll write a sequel," she promised as she drifted off to sleep.


	30. Give Up My Life, My Heart, My Home

**Written for the 'in sickness and in health' challenge.**

_Title: Give Up My Life, My Heart, My Home_

"Ready?" Bill asked, placing three duffle bags near the hatch.

One contained his clothes. No dress greys or duty blues, but green fatigues and camouflage gear. One was filled with her most practical outfits - no more high heels! The third one held toiletries, and a collection of photographs: several of Zak, as well as the precious one of her with Billy.

"What else are you taking?" she asked.

"You," he said, bending down to kiss her nose. He held the wheelchair. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."

She looked around the room that they'd spent so much time in together. "Your books?"

"No. I won't have time to read."

He grasped her arm gently, transferring her from the couch to the wheelchair. Then, kneeling down, he solicitously tucked a plaid blanket around her knees.

"I've got a wife to provide for now. I'll be busy building her a cabin; providing her with food. I'm going to become the traditional caveman." He gave her a toothy grin. "You're looking at the hunter and gatherer of your family."

"Your wife?" She smiled back, blinking away tears. "Is that a proposal?" she teased.

He rested his head on her lap. She automatically tangled her fingers through his thick hair. "We can find a priest; make it official."

"No," she rasped. "He might get confused whether he's officiating for a wedding or a funeral."

He looked up, not bothering to hide _his_ tears. "You're not going anywhere yet."

Standing, he pushed the wheelchair towards the hatch, and then paused.

"I'll be back."

He needed this moment to say goodbye to his home, she thought. She clutched her hands together, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

He returned and handed her a book. She read the title: _Searider Falcon_.

With a sheepish smile, he murmured, "Just one."


	31. Hidden Treasure

**Written for the 'kiss' prompt. One of my favs! LOL**

_Title: Hidden Treasure_

"Oh good, you're home," Laura greeted Bill, waving him over to join her in front of the bookcase where she sat amongst several towering piles of books.

"What do you think? Alphabetical, but by title or author?"

She busied herself by dragging an armful of books out onto the floor from the lower shelf, missing the distressed look he gave her.

"Or I could categorise them by genre first," she continued, pausing to pick up a title that caught her eye. "That might take a bit longer," she murmured, now distracted by this rare find.

"What are you doing?"

She looked up from the book. "I wanted to read _A Kiss Before Dying_. I couldn't find it. I thought I'd sort your books."

"No," he said firmly.

"No?" she asked uncertainly.

"No," he repeated, taking the book from her hand and randomly placing it on an upper shelf. "Half the fun of finding a book is in the search." He reached down, pulled her up off the floor and into his arms. "And then there are the surprises. Ones you weren't looking for, and suddenly they fall into your lap out of the blue; and they're the best damn read you've had in years."

She arched an eyebrow.

"If ever," he added.

"I see," she breathed, snuggling a little closer.

"Don't you remember visiting that back lane bookstore? Where you'd put up with the musty scent; and risk your back breaking to rummage around the lower shelves? We endure the suffering to obtain the prize."

She hummed and stretched out with her toe behind his back to kick over one of the piles of books.

"I guess we could use our time more efficiently anyway," she said, tilting her head towards the rack.

She interpreted his kiss as agreement.


	32. First Tuesday Book Club

**Written for the '33' challenge. Have included its 'companion piece' which was written for remix/rewrite challenge. These are A/U obviously! Oh, and I'm afraid I was called out for my Australian-isms with the first one in particular. I think I'm more careful with such things these days! (These were written in 2010!) Oh well, they were 'colonials' in BSG after all...**

**Title: First Tuesday Book Club**

_"33 bookstores! Laura, you can spend three hours in one!"_

The small village of Biblia, famous for its bookstores, wasn't what her sisters considered an exciting vacation destination.

Laura just wanted some time by herself. Sandra and Cheryl had been away at college when their mother had taken ill. Everyone had agreed their studies shouldn't be interrupted.

Laura pushed open the door of The Book Quarters_. _

There were all the usual touches she had come to expect from a second hand bookstore: floor to ceiling shelves lining the walls; piles cluttering up the available floor space; as well as a large couch surrounded by ornaments and draped with homey throw rugs sitting with pride of place in the centre of the shop. A coffee percolator was perched behind the couch emitting an enticing aroma.

A group of people sat at one end of the couch animatedly discussing the merits to a work of literature.

One man started explaining why he found the book's theme still relevant today, even though it was written before the Cylon War. Laura unabashedly nestled into the other end of the couch. She, like everyone else in the room, sat mesmerised by his husky tones as he voiced his intelligent opinion.

When the discussions ended, Laura's stomach growled loudly. She was forced to admit she would need to eat lunch before she could return to fossick amongst the store's shelves.

A hand on her arm stopped her before she reached the door.

"Prima's Dark Day." The man handed her the classic she'd never got around to reading. "I'll look forward to your opinion next week," he added.

It wasn't until she finished chapter three that she realised she had never paid for the book.

_33 bookstores._ Laura wondered if she would ever visit the other 32.

**Title: Return to Me **

Bill had always loved _Scorpia's Secret_. Being a favourite of his grandmother's, it held a special place in his heart.

So this week's book club discussion should have held his interest.

And it did; until he saw her.

He'd just finished giving his opinion before he found himself lost.

Lost in her long legs she'd tucked up beneath her on the couch, her shoes kicked off to one side.

Lost in her eyes which dominated, despite the shadows of sadness he saw within their depths, her pale and drawn face.

Some sixth sense told him this was the first time she'd relaxed in a long time.

His brain suddenly registered Sarah Porter, in her usual grating voice, complaining about future book choices. Regretfully, he turned his attention away from the mysterious woman on his couch to settle the issue.

He turned back; she was gone.

He scanned the aisles between the shelves, searching desperately for a glimpse of dark red hair.

He spun around when the bell on top of The Book Quarters' door tinkled.

Grabbing a copy of _Dark Day_, he caught her just in time.

She tentatively accepted the book before bowing her head for a brief moment. Her hands stroked its front cover reverently. Raising her head, he caught a faint hint of tears in her eyes. Had it been that long since anyone had offered her a gift?

He decided to be bold, and extended an invitation to next week's discussion.

She just smiled before heading off down the street. He watched from the doorway, anxious when she paused half way down to inspect Zarek's new window display.

"Bill! Did you get in _Engineering Monthly_?"

Reluctantly, he turned back to his friend Barry.

The atheist inside him protested as he began to pray she would return.


	33. Can't Fight Fate

**This was written for a 'canon with music' challenge. That is, to use a canon line within the ficlet with 'music' as a prompt. Points for who can pick the canon line (it didn't necessarily have to be said by Bill and Laura, btw) and don't blink at the music part.**

_Title: Can't Fight Fate_

Bill walked into his quarters to find Laura sitting cross-legged in front of his bookcase. Several books were piled up around her and she was swaying and humming, as if listening to some secret song only she could hear.

She wasn't wearing her wig or scarf. Her bare scalp accentuated the gaunt and sallow features of her face. Her natural beauty still battled to emerge from the shadows of the cancer. Her loveliness had an ethereal quality all of its own.

"Madam President."

She looked up and gave him a small regretful smile, knowing she had now almost fully discarded the title.

"Admiral."

"You look comfortable."

"I am." She tilted her head to one side and gave him a crooked grin. "I always have been, Bill. Even before I was comfortable with you, I was comfortable here. I've had it up to here with destiny, but maybe it was my destiny that my love for your quarters would eventually make me appreciate you more."

He chuckled and struggled to lower himself to the ground next to her.

She rose to her knees and crept over to him. "It's home," she whispered.

He kissed her softly. "It's our home," he corrected.

The End


	34. Make Yourself at Home

**Sorry Guest! Canon line was, ****_"I've had it up to here with destiny." _****I can't send you a prize! LOL :)**

**This one was written for a 'set in season one' challenge. Enjoy! And thanks for the reviews! **

_Title: Make Yourself at Home_

Bill invited the President to his quarters for their scheduled meeting. The Wardroom was too neutral; he needed some home ground advantage.

He waited in his chair; his father's solid hardwood desk separating it and the carefully placed visitor's chair opposite.

An array of beverages, which had been delivered earlier, was set out on a polished silver tray. His decanter of Aerilon whiskey was hidden in the bottom cabinet of the drinks' cart.

She eventually arrived, late, laden with an armful of folders.

She flashed him a harried smile, and then, much to his dismay, walked over and dropped the files upon the trunk which he used as a coffee table cum footrest.

"Commander, I think we need to review this problem with the _Zephyr _first," she started, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch.

He sat, stunned. She was not following the rules of his well-thought-out preparation.

Opening one of the folders, she threw him a look over her shoulder.

"Commander?"

It would seem churlish to remain where he was, so he slowly made his way to the couch – and stared.

She had sunk into the dark leather. The angle that she sat was causing her skirt to creep up and her blouse to gape almost inappropriately. Her feet were bare. Her toes twisted into the lush pile of his Libran rug.

She jumped up when someone knocked on the hatch, directing the Private to place his delivery of a dinner tray beside her pile of folders.

"I've been meeting with the Gemonese all day, and never had time to eat."

He hovered beside her, wanting to follow the young crewman out the hatch just to double check it really had Commanding Officer printed on it.

"Join me?"

Sighing, he supposed he would.


	35. Sticks and Stones

**Spreading my sad mood around the globe tonight. Written for the 'withdrawal' prompt.**

**Title: Sticks and Stones**

I've fallen off the wagon several times from just a few choice words.

_Bill, I want a divorce._

There was pain then, despite everything. It didn't matter that things had been wrong for years, it still hurt. I'd still gone out and gotten drunk, and stayed drunk for days afterwards.

_Your son's been in an accident._

There was pain then, and it remained. I couldn't hide it away in a bottom drawer to drag out once a year. I couldn't numb it. It never abated, no matter how much I tried to drown it in a sea of alcohol.

_My cancer has returned._

There was pain then, simmering, ready to explode. I had no Gods to turn to, so I tried her and alcohol. I couldn't get enough of either.

Now, all those words and pain seem inconsequential.

A new ache, one that eclipses every other I've endured, is settled in my gut and refusing to budge. It's as physical as two bullets to the chest.

I wonder how long I'll need to stay drunk-days won't cut it. All because of a few choice words; ones I will add to my 'most-hated' list.

_Bill, I'm moving into guest quarters._


	36. In the End, the Truth

**Written for the 'three letter body parts' challenge.**

_Title: In the End, the Truth_

Bill was sure the pounding of his heart was audible as he barged through the now all-too-familiar doors of sickbay.

His immature plan was to sweep aside each curtain until he found her but Cottle cut him off at the pass.

"She's okay, calm down."

"I am calm."

Lie number one: he was ready to snap at any moment. His hand moved to feel the shape of the flask where it was buried in the back pocket of his pants. It would be his lifeline if he needed it tonight.

"She's broken a rib."

"She fell?"

"No. I've strapped it up. As you know from personal experience, Admiral, there's not too much else I can do except order her to rest."

Cottle was being deliberately evasive.

"How'd she break it?"

"Don't try those bully tactics on me, Bill."

"I wasn't."

Lie number two: he'd squared his shoulders and given Cottle his best Commanding Officer glare - all to no avail.

Bill sighed and lowered himself into the first available chair. They called him the Old Man. He'd never felt it until the last few months.

"She was coughing." Cottle's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Coughed so Godsdamn hard she cracked a rib. It's in her lungs, Bill. Secondary cancer. Cubicle Two." Cottle gave his shoulder one last squeeze of sympathy before leaving to attend other patients.

Bill rose and strode towards her room. He'd convince her to fight this. They could beat this together.

He stopped.

Lie number three: she was dying and there wasn't anything either of them could do.

He pulled across the curtain which granted her the most minuscule level of privacy.

Her eyes were closed but she was awake. He knew what she looked like when she slept. He knew her. He loved her. That wasn't a lie.


	37. One on One

**Written for the 'I see dead people' challenge, which was to incorporate a dead character into the bsg universe as if they had never died. That is, keeping it a canon setting, but just slotting in the character as if they were always around/alive in the episodes after they had technically died in the show. Make sense? LOL I love this drabble, and if I had 24 hours in the day to write fanfic, I'd continue with it. **

_Title: One on One_

"Laura, come in. Bill's just in the head. Cleaning up."

Laura raised an eyebrow, but determinedly decided it was best to ignore this innuendo-laced greeting.

"Why don't we share a drink before everyone arrives?"

"Water, please."

The blonde's mouth twisted with disgust at the mere idea.

"Laura, dear, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

It grated that this grasping woman took the liberty to use her first name without seeking permission.

"Laura, the ring on Bill's finger is there for a reason."

"I assumed so."

"I don't think it's right for you to try and make him forget its significance."

Laura's chin lowered so she could peer over the top of her glasses. "The ring was a gift from his maternal grandmother when he graduated from the Fleet Academy," she said. "He placed it on his finger as a vow to protect the Fleet. I doubt I would ever want him to forget that."

"Is that what he told you? He's lying."

A chill shot up her spine. Conoy had told her Adama was a Cylon. Was her growing respect and, if she was honest, attraction, for her head of military blinding her to the possibility that he was capable of such duplicity?

"Madam President."

She turned to find the Commander discreetly eyeing her up and down. She may be dying, but her vanity had insisted she make an extra effort to ensure she wasn't the frumpiest woman at the dinner party.

"You look lovely," he murmured.

Somewhere behind her a glass was knocked over, shattering it and their shared moment.

"Carolanne?" He blinked. "Sorry, I never saw you there."

Laura smiled at the Commander's comment. She'd take that as a point.

She had a feeling that both she and Carolanne Adama would be keeping score tonight.

The End


	38. Memorial

**Written for a 'tradition' challenge.**

_Title: Memorial_

Laura sat on her cot with her bangle removed, slowly twirling it around her index finger and thumb.

"Hey, I'm not late?" Bill entered the room asking.

"No," she assured him. "Cottle is."

He squeezed her arm. "It'll all be over soon."

"One way or another."

"Laura—"

"Yes, yes, I know." She gave him a bright smile. "Thinking positive thoughts, Admiral."

He linked the fingers of one of her hands with his.

"I could use a drink," he admitted.

She shot him a dirty look.

"Yes, yes, I know," he repeated her words.

She looked down at her bangle. "It was always tradition for me to have a drink today; sometimes a lot more than one."

He rubbed his thumb across the thin skin of her wrist.

"More than one? I can't imagine the Laura Roslin I know and love getting drunk."

"You'd be surprised," she whispered.

Bill leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. He then balanced on the edge of the cot, patiently letting her reveal as little or as much as she wanted.

They died seven years ago today. If she closed her eyes, she could still see them so clearly; hear them, smell them.

She felt Bill gently wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"If only I could touch them," she murmured aloud.

He'd accused her of being afraid to die alone. He wasn't completely correct. She was also afraid of being lonely again. Before the Cylon attacks, she'd been so lonely, even when she wasn't lacking male company.

She opened her eyes and looked deep into Bill's eyes.

She continued to hold his gaze, as well as tightly grip his hand, when Cottle burst through the curtain.

"Oh good! You won't be so lonely now the Admiral's arrived."

"No," she whispered. "No, I won't."

The End


	39. Shifting Sands

**Written for the 'domestic bliss' challenge.**

**Title: Shifting Sands**

Bill picked up a handful of dirt and let it slip through his fingers.

"It isn't alluvial deposits," Laura teased.

He wiped his hand against his thighs. "No. The closest thing we had in the Colonies would be Caprican clay."

"We couldn't put the tents where there was a risk of flooding."

He turned away. "I've read Gaeta's reports."

"Of course," she said quietly to his rigid back.

He moved to unzip a large bag he'd brought with him, revealing a handcrafted Leonis rug.

She closed her eyes, thinking of its usual place in the universe.

_The first time she'd removed her shoes to walk barefoot across it, curling her toes into the soft woollen pile. His chuckles from behind her. Her swinging around, embarrassed, and yet not. _

"There," he grunted, straightening from spreading it out on the floor and shaking her out of her daydream. "You need to be comfortable, if you're insisting on staying."

"I have to." She reached out and brushed his sleeve. "I thought you understood. At Groundbreaking..."

"Yes. It's just..."

"It won't be forever. We both know the planet won't work out."

She found his hand and squeezed it.

"Then, I'll be home," she promised.


	40. The First Noel

**Just a tiny sweet one tonight. Written for an A/U challenge.**

**Title: The First Noel**

"This is what you rushed over to _Galactica_ for?"

"Billy's the only person tall enough, ma'am," Dee said, passing up the decorations from a box. "Chief wasn't keen for us to use one of his ladders."

Laura merely grunted and entered the Admiral's quarters.

"I'm not sure that is the best use of my aide's time."

"I never would have taken you for the bah-humbug type."

She folded her arms and harrumphed as he just chuckled.

"Billy's a good kid. He did _that-,_" Bill pointed up, "-especially for me."

"What?" she asked; too late.

"Mistletoe," he murmured against her lips.


	41. Longing to Linger

**Written for the 'picking up the pieces' prompt. **

**Title: Longing to Linger**

Laura lay down beside Bill, carefully keeping her body a little apart from his.

"'Night."

"'Night," he replied automatically as he managed to reach across and switch off the lamp above the rack without touching her.

Maddeningly feeling tears forming, she waited for his breathing to regulate and slow. However, after what felt like hours, she knew he was as wide awake as she was.

"Bill? I'm not sure... Do you want me to stay in sickbay until guest quarters become available?"

"No," he rasped. "I'm used to sleeping with you now," he added softly.

They fell silent again. Then, he spoke once more: "I thought I'd come home and you wouldn't be here."

"I'm used to sleeping with you now," she raggedly whispered.

And, she thought, it was only sleeping together. She wondered if good old-fashioned frustration was their problem.

Sometimes all it took was something as mundane as the way Bill was holding his pen to elicit a shiver of erotic memories. His mouth curving into a smile could easily make her remember the times he kissed her more intimately than any man had ever bothered to before.

"Bill, I can't make you do this." The threatening tears began to fall. "You shouldn't have to care for a sick woman. This isn't what you signed up for."

"Of course it is. In sickness and health, remember."

"Bill, I've cancer, not dementia. I think I would have noticed if we'd gotten married."

With that comment, their tension was at last broken with the sound of Bill's chuckle echoing off the bulkhead.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

"No one's going anywhere," he repeated.

She closed her eyes and relaxed. For just one more night she'd dare to dream with Bill Adama.


	42. Between the Pages

**Written for the litmus prompt/challenge.**

**Title: Between the Pages**

Laura leaned back in her chair and stared out the window at Galactica's bulk, seemingly hovering motionless beside her. In reality the Battlestar was moving hundreds of miles a minute. It would be able to go even faster if not for the smaller ships in the Fleet.

"A metaphor for my life at the moment."

"I beg your pardon, Madam President?"

She snorted. "Nothing, Billy. Sorry."

Cancer, Chamalla and Cylons; they were slowing her down the most. And yet her body kept ageing at an alarming rate.

"Happy birthday, Madam President."

She reached out and gave Billy's hand a quick squeeze. "Thank you, Billy."

"Would you like your dinner? I can tell the galley to send it up."

She didn't want a cake, but she could remember a time when she'd chosen her own menu; prepared her own meals.

"No, my appetite is..." She didn't bother finishing the statement. "I think I might just go to bed."

_Alone._ The unspoken word hung in the air. Her gaze settled on the telephone. She could call...

"Commander Adama sent something over for you."

Billy offered her the small plain envelope.

"His instructions were pretty strict. He didn't want anyone but you to open it, ma'am."

She carefully peeled back the seal and drew out a delicate strip of Libran silk.

"A bookmark?"

"It's beautiful," she breathed. She ran her finger over its intricate design. "I think there's real Libran gold threads entwined on the tassels."

"He knows about your birthday?"

"I can't see how," she murmured. "There's a note." She unfolded the small piece of paper.

_We just need to find our place._

"What do you think it means?" Billy asked.

She smiled, quickly found _Dark Day_ on her desk, and gently placed the bookmark between its pages.

"It means: he's trying."


	43. Back Up Plan

**Written for the 'recovery' prompt. As I wrote this I was thinking it was part of Written in the Stars, For Fear Your Grace Should Fall, and Well, You Don't know Me, but you don't have to read any of them to understand this obviously. Just know it's an A/U world.**

**Title: Back Up Plan**

Bill frowned and jiggled Laura's office door handle again.

"Laura, your door's locked!" he called out and knocked at the same time.

Even through the solid wood, he could hear her squeak of distress before it opened a crack and she peeked out.

"You're ready?"

She nodded and stepped out into the hallway, pulling her office door firmly shut behind her.

"Let's go," she said briskly, hooking her hand onto his arm, a habit she'd gotten into recently. It was only a casual gesture, he kept telling himself.

"I've got all the plans, but you were bringing the contract," he reminded her.

She sighed and removed her glasses, hooking them onto the top of her blouse. Their weight made the silky material droop and gave him a better view of the curve of her breasts. It was distracting.

"There's been a... Technical problem."

He pinched his nose where his glasses rubbed. "The computer program," he guessed.

She bit down on her lip and with a loud sigh she leaned to push her office door wide open.

Felix Gaeta was seated behind her desk, tapping away on one of three extra keyboards he had hooked up to her laptop.

She tilted her head and squinted. "He's trying to recover the files."

.  
Two hours later, after rescheduling their meetings, Laura joined him on the low couch running along the wall of his office, where he'd been relegated after she had commandeered his desk.

"I was just going through the budget," she said, kicking her shoes off. "We can save money if we reduce our office space."

"You're going to move in here?" he joked.

She stretched her legs out into his lap. "Yes, Bill, I am."

Their gazes met and his mouth went dry. Eventually, however, he replied: "I'll help you pack."


	44. Seduction Scene

**I'm off on holidays for a few weeks, so I won't be posting until I return. I'll leave you with some almost-smut. Written for the Disquiet challenge. Thanks for all the reviews! Will be back!**

**Title: Seduction Scene**

With each upward stroke anticipation burned through her. She was certain he'd reach higher to caress the sensitive skin of her inner thighs _this_ time.

His deep voice added to the heat flowing through her. He'd brought a book. Only William Adama would bring a book with him when he planned to seduce a woman.

She should be annoyed. The seduction was supposed to be her idea.

The candles, the kiss, the phone call, the fact that she was wearing his soft brown robe (rifled from his quarters along with a new set of tanks after her run) when she'd opened the hatch... Yet, after all her careful planning,_ he_ was the one doing the seducing.

He'd only laughed when she'd bragged about being in possession of the robe. He'd dismissed her choice of book (Picon poetry) for the one he was now reading.

Sweat pooled in the valley of her breasts. Her bones were liquid; her limbs weak and fluid. A rush of moisture gathered between her legs. She licked her lips. Her mouth was the only place that felt dry.

Yes, he'd planned this seduction just as carefully as she had. And the book was proof. Why would he need to bring a novel along with him to discuss a fuel situation?

She realised he'd fallen quiet. His long pauses between sentences had been almost as arousing as his narration. Of course, during these silences, his hands had never stopped their flirtatious wanderings. This time though, he hadn't resumed reading.

She opened her eyes and their gazes met.

"I love you."

The romantic notion of combining love and lust at last made sense to her after all these years.

Who was seducing whom ceased to matter. Everything was always better between them when they were equal partners anyway.


	45. The Last Time

**I'm back from holidays! Yay! So, more drabbles! Here's one I wrote for the recovery challenge.**

**Title: The Last Time**

Laura looked up wearily when the sickbay curtain slid across, but she wasn't surprised by her new visitor. She'd been expecting him sooner actually. She wondered if the delay was for appearance's sake, or for his own.

Billy, who hadn't left her bedside for the past few hours, quickly stood, out of respect and, she suspected, embarrassment. A short burst of laughter escaped her, causing both men to jump and stare at her with a mixture of wariness and bemusement.

"Billy, why don't you go and grab a bite to eat while I talk to the Admiral?"

Once they were alone, an uncomfortable silence fell over them. A rare occurrence when she was with Bill. He lowered himself into the chair Billy had vacated, and she took a sip of water in an effort to find some composure.

"Bill, about the... When you thought I would die... The kiss..." Surely he would know exactly what kiss she was talking about. "It was nice. Thank you," she added, feeling less silly than she should, considering.

"Yes."

"But I'm the president again, and you're..."

He bowed his head. "Yes."

"It was better than nice," she admitted. "It was a beautiful last kiss."

"Not last." He abruptly stood. "First."

Before she could protest he bent down and his lips were on hers, applying a gentle sweet pressure.

"It won't be the last," he softly promised as he returned to his seat. Then, he quietly added: "But it will be your last first kiss - I hope."

She stared at him for a long moment, taking in his words' meaning. Finally she inched her hand to the side of the cot and offered it palm upwards. He grasped it without hesitation and they linked their fingers.

"It was a beautiful last first kiss," she agreed. 


	46. Family Portrait

**Written for a Billy challenge. This was a companion piece for a friend's drabble which had the premise that Bill gave Laura the photo of her and Billy (you know the one! we so often see it in the show!) using a frame which had originally held a photo of Zak. To find it, check out nixmom's journal or the ar_drabbles community on livejournal.**

_Title: Family Portrait_

This was it then.

Cottle hadn't pulled any punches with his prognosis. When he'd finished telling me our (limited) options, he'd gruffly muttered something about calling the Admiral and left, the curtain rod rattling in his wake.

I was still trying to compose myself. I hated crying.

"Hey."

I gasped. I wasn't sure how he did that. One word; one completely irrelevant word.

I lifted my hand in his general direction. I could have gone in search of my glasses, but I'd use any excuse, even one as frightening as going blind, to draw him close. (I assumed the gods would forgive me this one small scrap of selfishness.)

He took my reaching hand in his.

"Will you stay with me?" I begged.

Impending death did strange things to people, I decided.

"Like you'd have to ask," he replied in the husky tone that had earned him his callsign. "If I need to check into CIC, Cottle's here. Although he did say you'd have to take a number, and to tell you he has other patients," he added teasingly. "And we still have Lee, despite..." He cleared his throat. "And..."

I heard a rustling and then Bill placed a photo frame in my hands. I blinked rapidly and focused.

"I look so healthy there, even though I was dying," I noted with wonder.

"It's because you were happy."

I wouldn't even have this one piece of memorabilia if it wasn't for Bill.

I stroked Billy's cheek. Bill mirrored the action, softly caressing my skin. Then, he leaned down and kissed me in the same place.

Lee, Cottle, my late son, and my loyal husband...

I tilted my head until our lips met. "You make me happy," I confessed.

Bill hadn't only given me a home, he'd gifted me a family.


	47. Lay Bare

**Written for the 'behind the mask' prompt.**

**Title: Lay Bare**

She brushed her fingers over a thin white scar which ran across the edge of his shoulder blade. It was so small compared to the crimson one which ran down his centre. The biopsy scars on her breast were smaller again...

"This was bound to happen, Bill. On Kobol you promised me we'd do everything together."

"I'm not sure I meant this sort of together," he commented dryly.

She shrugged. "I don't particularly think it would work out if I was this sort of together with anyone else."

She lifted her head and kissed his chin. "I don't really have time to go and put my name down on the Fleet's 'singles searching for a partner' list."

She fingered the marks on his face.

"You're probably the least convenient lover in the Fleet, Bill."

"Yeah?"

She wanted to memorise each line, each hollow, each wrinkle.

"There's this tiny thing called conflict of interest, you may have heard of it before," she murmured.

She felt his hand gently cup her hip. Possessively?

"And you know," she whispered.

"Know what?"

"Know Laura." She sighed and let him lower his head for a kiss. "Just Laura," she breathed out as their lips met.


	48. A Beautiful Mess

_Written for a challenge where you were to use the song All Along the Watchtower as inspiration. Part of the song that I was thinking of: But you and I, we've been through that. And this is not our fate. So let us not talk falsely now. The hour is getting late_

_Those words made me think of the time they were the most honest with each other - the 6of1 argument. So, I started writing a fic set after that, about what would have happened to Laura if the attacks hadn't happened and something deep like that. But then, somehow, I turned it into a sappy romantic fic._

**Title: A Beautiful Mess**

Laura woke, disorientated. Her hand automatically reached out. The mattress beside her was empty.

Rolling over, she squinted into the darkness of the room and made out Bill sitting at his desk.

She padded silently over to him. His eyes were shut, an arm propping up his head. A pot of coffee sat beside him.

She knew immediately he wasn't asleep.

"Come to bed," she whispered.

He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"You sure? I can sleep on the couch."

She took his hand and tugged it gently. "I'm sure. We had a fight, Bill. It wasn't our first, and probably won't be our last."

"I'm sorry," he murmured near her ear after they'd settled into the rack together.

"You only spoke the truth. As did I."

"I should've waited until I'd sobered up."

"So should have I."

His arms dragged her closer.

"I was alone," she said quietly. "Before the attacks. Billions of people on the Twelve Colonies and I was so alone."

She felt his lips on her neck.

"I had a lover. I visited him after I found out about the cancer."

"What did he say?"

"I never told him. He was my lover, but I didn't tell him. If I'd loved him, I would have wanted to tell him, don't you think?"

"Guess it depends on why you didn't want to tell him."

"I didn't think he'd care."

"He was obviously a moron."

"Even if I told him, I would have still died alone. He wouldn't have stayed with me."

"No… a prick."

She snorted.

"You came straight here after Cottle told you the cancer had returned," he commented.

"Of course."

"If I'd loved him, I would have wanted to tell him," he repeated.

Laura merely hummed and tucked his arm around her tighter.


	49. A Taste of Honey

**Written for the 'aka' (nicknames) challenge**

**Title: A Taste of Honey**

She surprised herself by agreeing to move in before her first diloxin treatment.

The press was informed that the President wasn't willing to evict anyone in order to obtain an entire room of her own, and therefore, would be staying with the Admiral.

She may have even believed her own publicity - if it hadn't been for the level of intimacy she and Bill quickly began to share after she unpacked her meagre possessions.

It didn't surprise her that Bill tried his best to be as accommodating as possible.

He made room in the closet for her clothes. He arranged for a desk to be placed beside his.

She was surprised by the way they naturally eased into a routine, and how much she enjoyed learning his domestic secrets.

He had a pot of coffee delivered at six every morning. He had to shave twice a day. If he was assigned the CIC nightshift, he worked on his model ship the following afternoon instead of sleeping. He liked to read in bed.

It really surprised her when she revelled in Bill's pampering, and never once thought of it as suffocating.

He ordered her favourite meals; at times convenient to her. He insisted she sleep in the rack while he struggled on the couch.

"Thanks honey," she murmured as he tucked a blanket around her legs one night.

It was surprising how easily the words slipped from her lips.

It didn't surprise her when he never acknowledged her offhand endearment at all.

It surprised her that she hoped he knew it was as close as she could get to replying to the way he'd been acting around her for such a long time now; actions that spoke of much deeper feelings.

She planned on calling him 'honey' again. It was surprisingly right


	50. Deep Water

**Written for the 99 problems challenge.**

**Title: Deep Water**

Laura was woken by the sound of Bill retching.

When the toilet flushed, she slipped out of the rack and shuffled to the head.

"Are you okay?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe as he brushed his teeth. Stupid question, she thought. Of course he wasn't okay; neither was she.

"Sorry," he slurred and turned unsteadily. "Sorry," he repeated. "I shouldn't…"

"No, you shouldn't," she agreed, yet she couldn't quite make her words come out as harsh as she wanted, and next she found herself holding his arm as they relocated to the couch.

"Why do you put up with me?" he asked as they somehow synchronised their movements until he was lying with his head in her lap.

"Probably the same reason you put up with me."

Her fingers sank into the thickness of his hair. She tried desperately not to think of how much more of hers she'd lost today. Another week at the most…

"Are you trying to forget our problems?"

"Perhaps I have an addictive personality," he replied.

"No, we're all addicted to something: drugs, cigarettes, money, sex."

"Work? Martyrdom?"

She grunted at his sarcasm. "Some addictions are less destructive than others."

"Of course that's what the person with the addiction would insist," he ground out.

Even a drunk William Adama could give as good as he got.

"We look for answers with our addictions."

"Yeah. I'm just not sure I know what my question is," he admitted.

"Why are we alive? What is life?" she suggested.

"What is love?"

She closed her eyes at his idea. "You think one day you'll find the answer in the bottom of the bottle?"

"Guess not. Love's an addiction, too," he rasped.

"Yes," she said, leaning down to kiss his check. "And perhaps you do have an addictive personality."


	51. Happy Wearing Green and Gold

**Written for the black market challenge.**

**Title: Happy Wearing Green and Gold**

Bill placed a pair of earrings on the coffee table.

They were beautiful.

At a guess, Laura would say their sparkling green stones were genuine emeralds. Set against plain gold, they were almost perfect- dainty and elegant, in no way gaudy.

She looked at him over the top of her glasses. "I thought you understood my feelings about the black market," she snapped, unwilling to be bribed.

"If people find they have something they can't use, why shouldn't they exchange it for something they want?"

"Bill, you know as well as I do that it's not trade I'm opposed to. It's the fact these criminals are forcing people to trade their belongings to gain essential items."

He shrugged. "Depends what you consider essential. Cottle's cigarettes? Compared to a child's medicine they aren't essential, but the Fleet would probably be down its most senior doctor if we couldn't keep up his supply."

"Bill, this isn't a laughing matter."

"Baltar's cigars? Your lipstick?"

She blinked in surprise, and then consciously licked her lips, tasting the precious commodity. She liked it when Bill noticed things about her that others didn't.

"If they're using people's grief to gain these things…"

Bill met her gaze. "Sometimes the happiest things in life come from people's grief."

He picked up one of the earrings, swept back her hair, and hooked it through the tiny empty hole in her lobe.

He shushed her as she opened her mouth to protest.

"You should trust me more," he chided gently. "These were my mother's. I gained them through grief. I can't use them. And giving them to you will gain me something I want."

He bent and kissed her neck, just below the lobe where the gift sat.

"Sometimes the happiest things in life come from people's grief," she whispered.


	52. Knowing Me, Knowing You

**Written for the 'hail the frakstache' challenge.**

**Title: Knowing Me, Knowing You**

Laura flicked through the documents Bill had just presented her with: a census of survivors; a list of ships worst effected by overcrowding; a record of casualties and injuries; an inventory of food, fuel and weapon supplies.

She threw them down onto his desk.

"Why are you giving me these? I'm not the President."

"I've already talked to Zarek; told him he won't be staying on in the office."

"Bill, you can't—"

"Yes, I can. And I will. The only executive order he'll be carrying out as President will be to nominate you as Vice President, and then, resign."

"Resign?"

"Resign and you step up as President."

"Bill, honey," she teased, "I can't believe you're lowering yourself to participate in such political machinations."

Bill blushed as he grunted.

"What makes you think I want to be President again?" she asked.

"That look in your eyes."

"I don't have a look in my eyes," she scoffed.

He just raised an eyebrow.

She folded her arms, stubbornly refusing to admit his proposition was tempting.

He ignored her tough stance, picked up the documents and held them out towards her again.

She took a step closer, so their bodies brushed together. Ignoring the paperwork, she reached out and stroked across his bare upper lip.

"So, that's it?" she whispered. "We're back to being the Admiral and the President? Laura and Bill disappear with the moustache?"

Her fingers slowly traced his lips. "You're not even going to say you missed me? You were worried about me? You're happy I'm home?"

He tilted his head so he could kiss the tips of her fingers, her palm, her wrist.

"I don't need to, Laura. You know."

"And when I'm President again?"

He leaned down until his lips found hers for a sweet kiss.

"You'll always know."


	53. Small Mercies

Written for the 'gratitude' challenge.

Title: Small Mercies

"How's Saul?"

"Drunker than me," Bill promises, slipping straight to the head after walking through the hatch.

"He's moved back in with Ellen," he calls out as he brushes his teeth.

"What? How's Caprica taking that?"

"She's apparently fine about the Ellen situation. Must have guessed it would happen, I suppose. Cottle's offering her counselling," he comments as he strips down to his tanks and boxers.

"If anyone would've told me we'd be saying such a thing two years ago…"

"Chief called," she tells him as he settles into the rack beside her.

"Probably something to do with his Cylon goo."

Taking a bottle of pills from the shelf above their rack, he shakes one into his palm and dry swallows it before flicking out the lights.

"Should we use a more technical word than 'goo'?" she rasps out.

"Baltar was at Joe's."

"And?"

"And nothing, I guess," he grunts, tugging off her scarf to stroke her bare scalp.

"At least we have our health, right?" she snorts after a quiet moment.

He chuckles.

"And each other," she whispers.

His mouth finds hers in the dark. "If anyone would've told me we'd be saying such a thing two years ago…"


	54. Honourable Men

**Written for a friend's birthday. One who likes Cottle as much as I do.**

**Title: Honourable Men**

Laura Roslin's dressed and sitting on the edge of the cot, eager to escape.

"I'll walk you to your quarters," I offer.

"You leave sickbay?" she teases.

I left once, settled on New Caprica-not the happy early retirement I'd hoped for.

We begin to navigate our way through _Galactica_. She confuses me by taking a different route.

"Where're we going?"

"Guest quarters," she replies shortly.

"You need someone-"

"I'll be fine."

I turn her around.

"Back to sickbay," I snap.

She shakes free.

"No."

I decide to give her an ultimatum. "Sickbay or the Admiral's; your choice."

Her eyes flash angrily for a moment, and then, suddenly, her shoulders slump, and all the fight goes out of her.

When we arrive at the Commanding Officer's quarters, she wearily spins the hatch and gestures me inside.

The instantly recognisable stench of alcohol mingles with that of sweat, and penetrates even my tobacco-affected sense of smell.

Bill sits sprawled on the couch, wearing only his tanks and trousers. A glass of clear liquid balances precariously against his leg.

I look back to the President. "How did you know?"

She shrugs. "I know the signs. He visited earlier."

"Wanna drink?" Bill slurs.

"No thanks, Bill," she answers. "I'm dying," she tells me. "As is _Galactica_. Great timing."

I'm a doctor, Godsdammit! I need to do something.

"I'll help him," I vow. I have to help them both.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Her features soften as she faces Bill again. He looks up, seemingly clear-headed, and smiles at her. She smiles back, lowers herself to snuggle under his arm and kisses his cheek.

"You're a good man."

She says this while looking at Bill, but I still get the distinct impression she's talking to us both.

I only hope we will prove worthy.


	55. Then a New Hero Comes Along

**Written for the hero challenge.**

**Title: Then a New Hero Comes Along**

"My first love?"

"Yeah."

"I was young. He was a lot older." She reached over and rubbed her hand along Bill's forearm. "We went to a lot of boxing bouts together."

Bill chuckled. "The way to Laura Roslin's heart: treat her to a night of sweaty, bloody men punching each other."

She crossed her arms and gave him her best presidential glare. "We did do some things that you might consider to have more cultural worth, Admiral."

Her expression softened, and she smiled a sentimental dreamlike smile. "He took me to the opera once. He hated it. He was more of a man's man. And yet he was destined to have all these women…"

Bill frowned, but Laura continued.

"He introduced me to literature. We could discuss books for hours." She giggled prettily. "Actually you'd probably call it arguing." She reached out and took Bill's hand. "He's probably the only man I could argue with more than you."

"We don't argue," he said, his voice gruff. "We debate."

"You remind me a lot of him. He was my hero too."

"What was his name?"

"Edward Roslin; my first love."

Bill pulled her into his arms.

"William Adama; my last love."


	56. Yours Faithfully

**Written for the 'cookies, cake or chocolate' challenge.**

**Title: Yours Faithfully**

Bill was unsettled by her prolonged silence. He'd fallen in love with a feisty woman. He floundered when she became apathetic.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"How do you think I feel? It's now official. I'm the most gullible fool that's existed in Colonial history."

He opened his mouth, but she ploughed on before he could protest: "Everything I believed in all this time; it was simply a trail of crumbs left by Cylons."

"Laura-"

"The Tighs!" He'd noticed her knack of turning their name into a profanity of late. "Of all people, the _Tighs_ were my Gods."

"No. Your Gods are still there."

"Laughing at the perversity?" She shook her head, impatient. "It was all an Oracle's palm reading; a fortune from a cookie; generic advice waiting for some naive fool to interpret it as gospel."

"It's only natural to turn to religion when faced with adversity. We all seek answers. There are crazier alternatives."

She crossed her arms and made a disagreeable noise through her nose. "Like what?" she snapped.

He reached out to lightly massage the nape of her neck. "Crystals, angels, runes, animal spirits..."

He saw her lips twitching even though she kept frowning.

"Group sex with Baltar."

He thanked her false Gods when his gentle joke made her melt into his arms with a sigh.

"There is still one thing I believe in," she whispered. "Love. When it came to love, I was a complete atheist."

She leaned back and cupped his face with one hand, her thumb skimming over his cheek. "But you, Bill, you made me believe."

Smiling, he turned his head, kissing her palm.

"Love, huh?" he murmured, making her snort with laughter for some reason.

"Yes. Our love."

He held her tight. "Better than group sex with Baltar any day."


	57. Enemy Mine

**Written for the 'skinjobs' challenge.**

**Title: Enemy Mine**

Laura peered out through the hazy mist of the rain. The Cylon 'skinjob' sat sheltered beneath the camp's other tarp.

"You should try and get some sleep." Bill Adama crouched beside her. He bent his head to her ear as he spoke. "We still have a long hike back to the Raptor landing site tomorrow."

"You think we should let her live?" she asked, also leaning towards him to ensure she was heard over the roar of the rain.

He hesitated. "I'm not sure we should make any rash decisions."

"Do you believe her?"

He sat down completely with a sigh. "That she knew nothing about Boomer?" he asked, twisting his head close still to speak directly into her ear. "I'm finding it difficult to look at her and not think of her as anything but my enemy."

She plucked at the blanket draped over her knees.

"I considered you my enemy a few days ago," she admitted with a slight flush. "Now, here I am, seeking your opinion; wanting this to be a joint decision."

"We work well together." His breath whispered over her cheek, spreading gooseflesh across her skin. "We make much better friends than enemies."

"Friends?"

"I thought so," he replied gruffly.

Laura looked across at the Cylon again, remembering that exact moment when she'd heard Bill had been shot.

"Bill…" She groped for the right words.

"Laura, not just friends-"

She tapped her finger against the back of his hand before he could say anymore. "Commander, what shall we do with this Cylon?"

"You don't you think it's about time we discussed—"

"No."

She bit her lip and looked away.

"Okay, we'll play it your way," he eventually murmured. "But, Laura, not enemies."

She gave in and met his gaze in the near-darkness. "No, not enemies."


	58. Jewel in the Crown

**Written for a 'dreams' challenge.**

**Title: Jewel in the Crown**

Laura balanced a large coffee table book on her lap. She flicked through the glossy pages, admiring the glamorous photographs of some of the most beloved stars of the stage and screen.

She smiled wistfully at their glittering jewellery, sophisticated and sexy attire, and artistically applied make-up.

Leaning back and closing her eyes, she reminisced about a time when such excesses were considered acceptable.

The President of the Twelve Colonies had a plain silver bangle which she kept for sentimental reasons and not for any elegant impression it might give. She had a few modest necklaces and a couple of different pairs of earrings.

The last time she had attended a celebration, she'd turned a wispy piece of red material into her one cheerful and optimistic outfit. It had certainly been a hit with one of her fellow partygoers.

Her leisure time was taken up with quiet nights reading, or simply talking.

She reached out and threaded her fingers with Bill's.

He filled her lonely nights better than any social engagement she could dream of.

She never needed to dress up to catch his eye.

A rough diamond on first impression, she now knew he was an almost flawless gem.


	59. Just a Kiss

**Not written for any particular challenge!**

**Title: Just a Kiss**

The kiss knocked her off balance.

Up until then, she'd been in control. She was still the President, he was still the Commander. Yes, they'd had sex, but they didn't need to make a big deal out of that fact, surely. Sex was a normal part of life. Like eating or sleeping.

And she might have believed all that, if it hadn't been for the kiss.

There were other kisses before it, of course, during foreplay. She blamed the chamalla, her imminent death, and the glass of home-made alcohol she'd consumed, for the first few. His motivation was more difficult to gauge, but common sense told her it probably had something to do with Admiral Cain's arrival.

They were all nice kisses. Actually, admittedly, some of them were much better than nice. She was happy for some of them to go on forever.

One of them was obviously responsible for things progressing from just kisses. Logic would dictate that the kiss that caused her to let him remove her clothes and make love to her should be the one to be most concerned about.

Not the small kiss at the end.

It had been so fleeting, it should be inconsequential.

So why was she now lying here afterwards, feeling awkward?

She found the strength to stand and dress.

She looked down at him, resisting the urge to press her mouth to his shoulder, to run her hands through his hair. It was tempting to stay, to wake to his touch.

He reached out and took her hand, squeezed it. "I'll see you later," he promised, his voice ordinary, yet enticing.

She nodded. And then, without thinking, she kissed him, the same way he'd kissed her.

It was a small kiss, fleeting, inconsequential.

She'd just ignore his grin as she left.


	60. Sons and Daughters

**Guest/s: Thanks for all the reviews. No, I'm in Queensland, which is hot and gusty and dry too, but all our fires are under control at the moment, unlike New South Wales. Touch wood...**

**Written for the education challenge.**

**Title: Sons and Daughters**

"This is everything your father had published?"

Laura flicked through the pile of books Bill had set aside to deliver to Lee.

"Yeah, that's all of them," Bill confirmed.

"You never had any aspirations to follow him into law?"

"No."

She raised an eyebrow at his curt reply.

"You're well-read, well-spoken, compassionate. I think you'd have made a very good lawyer."

He grunted. "I wasn't ambitious enough." He gave her a crooked smile. "Well, something like that anyway."

"I followed my mother into teaching," she mused.

"Is that why you gave it up? You realised that it was her dream, and not yours?"

"No, I enjoyed it and it was fulfilling, before…"

"Before? What happened? Why'd you decide to give up teaching and go into politics?"

"I just realised I wasn't as good as my mother." She shrugged. "Well, something like that anyway."

Still avoiding the details of her past, she decided to turn the conversation back to him. "Was he very disappointed?" she asked.

"Yeah, our relationship went from bad to worse after that." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I promised myself that I wouldn't force the boys into following my footsteps."

"And yet they did," she pointed out.

"I didn't ask them to," Bill grumbled defensively.

"You didn't have to. Just like my mother didn't have to ask me to follow her into the realm of education. You taught your children by example. That's a sign of a good father: showing and doing instead of telling."

"I'm not sure Lee would agree about that good father thing." He sighed. "We're constantly at each other's throats."

"_That_ might be something to do with your girlfriend," she drawled.

"I've got a girlfriend?"

She hummed, and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Well, something like that anyway."


	61. Ring in the New Year

**Written for the photograph challenge**

**Title: Ring in the New Year**

Laura paced beside Adama's desk, determinedly ignoring the temptation that sat on it.

She couldn't look. There was scant enough good faith between them as it was.

It was strange though. For a man with ingrained military reflexes and alertness to be so absorbed with studying a photograph that he hadn't even realised she'd entered his quarters. And why had he jumped and slammed the photo frame face down onto his desk so quickly when she'd finally cleared her throat to signal her presence?

She willed her gaze to linger on the Monclair which covered the plain grey bulkhead.

He would be back soon. They'd been about to discuss the water situation further when he'd been urgently summoned to CIC. He wouldn't be long, he'd assured her.

She mulled over how his son had recently pointed out the way she'd misinterpreted his intentions. Perhaps it would be best if she just snuck a peek at the photo, to ensure nothing like that happened again. He didn't mind when she examined the other photos he had on view.

Decision made, she strode to the desk, her heart pounding, and flipped over the frame.

It was the Commander - a much younger Commander - arm in arm with his new bride.

She let her finger trace his startlingly beautiful smile, down the waistcoat that showed off his muscular chest, to his dark large hand displaying a shiny new wedding band.

She blinked. His ring…

She leaned down, focussing on the pattern engraved into it.

The ring the Commander now wore was a plain band of gold.

She carefully replaced the photograph and hurried to the couch, settling back into the cushions with a flush of guilt.

Whose ring was he now wearing? Who was he wearing it for?

Would she ever understand William Adama?


	62. Last Rights

**Written for the 'someone to watch over me' challenge.**

**Title: Last Rights**

He woke to the sound of laughter and conversation.

It was a strange sensation.

"She has no one," Laura had told him. "I need to be there for her; to watch over her until…" Her voice had broken then, and she'd taken a few minutes to compose herself before simply adding: "It won't be long."

He had been intrigued. It was rare for someone to speak their mind and treat Laura like an equal.

But, he reminded himself, in this ward they were equal.

He had wanted to meet her, but now, as he listened to Laura's familiar husky tones and this woman's nasally drawl, he hesitated.

After struggling out of the visitor's chair he'd dozed off in, he saw a note.

_I have the terrible urge to crawl into your lap, but I don't think it would be appropriate. Call me when you are ready to wake. _

He smiled, found a pen, and added a line beneath her loopy writing.

_Call me when you are ready to sleep._

He would let Laura and this woman share their time together.

This woman was giving Laura a gift, and soon enough - too soon - Laura would pass that gift on to him.


	63. First Love, Last Love

**Written for the 'set in sick bay' challenge. It would help if you've seen the cut scene from Islanded in a Stream of Stars for this to make sense. Youtube it. It's my canon. I refuse to accept what the editors gave us. **

**Title: First Love, Last Love**

Laura was mellow from the New Caprican cigarette, but she was still worried when Bill put the book aside again and gave her a hesitant look.

"What?" She tilted her head, attempting to capture his too-blue eyes. "What is it, Bill?"

"I was just wondering about the time you lived in that apartment with someone else. You said you were 'mostly alone'."

She grinned. "William Adama, are you jealous?"

His gaze flicked away.

She hadn't thought of Julian in years. She'd been 25 when they'd moved in together. She had presumed they would one day marry, have children. Julian had also; only his time frame for these eventualities was considerably more advanced than hers. His suggestion too, that once she was pregnant she would need to resign from her teaching position, had come as a shock. She had argued that she was quite capable of balancing a home life with a career.

"He must have been an idiot," Bill rumbled.

She laughed, and reached out to link her fingers with his.

"He just didn't have the perfect couch like you," she teased.

Bill remained serious. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, nothing so dramatic," she assured him. "He just wasn't you."


End file.
